Traces of Contact
by VR Trakowski
Summary: Inter-ep for "Under a Cloud". GSR


**The characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Opinions expressed by the characters may or may not be those of the authors. Price subject to change without you noticing. Void where there's a vacuum. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Okay, yes, it's been a long time. Frankly, I consider any episode past "One to Go" to be AU, but for some reason I'm still watching. This particular explanation occurred to me a while back, and I finally ran with it. Unbeta'd. **

**xxxxxxxxx**

She knew she shouldn't be doing this.

She didn't care.

Sara locked the door of Brass' office behind her, but didn't bother with the lights. The cellphone she pulled from her pocket was a basic model, disposable, the kind countless wrongdoers used to make untraceable calls and the bane of any criminal investigator.

_Dire emergencies only, hell. That was as close to dire as I ever want to come._

She'd had more close brushes with death than she wanted to remember, Sara thought, but somehow this one had hit her harder than she'd expected.

So she was going to break the rules.

She hadn't yet had to dial the number, but she knew it by heart just the same, thumb pressing out the quick sequence, occluding the dull glow of the buttons as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. All the reasons why she shouldn't ran chattering through her brain, and Sara countered them just as quickly - she'd destroy the phone as soon as she was through, no one could expect her to call from within the police station -

"Sara."

Her eyes closed in aching relief at the sound of Grissom's voice, low and equally relieved. _He was waiting._

"Who told you? Brass?" she asked, keeping her own voice quiet.

"Of course. Sara, _are you all right?_" There was desperation threaded through the question, the bitter frustration of distance and denial, and she squeezed her eyes harder in response.

"I'm fine. Shaken up, but fine." She wrapped her free arm around herself, wishing for his hug. "I've about had it with explosions, Griss, and you weren't here to call me 'honey'."

She infused the word with a breath of humor, but his voice held none, and she could visualize his grimace of worry. "I wish I were. Sara, this is intolerable. You could have - "

She heard him swallow, and felt her eyes sting. "I didn't. Gil, I _didn't._"

"But you could have." It was a rough whisper.

"Yeah, and you could get hit by a bus tomorrow." Sara bit her lip; it was so unfair, not even knowing where he was. "There are no guarantees, you know that."

He grunted, shorthand for a familiar argument, but they didn't have the time to waste. "I want to hold you, Sara. I want to _know_ you're okay."

"Me too," she managed. Being alone was doubly hard now. "But until they catch this guy - "

"I know." Grissom took a deep breath. "I know."

"Is there any news?" Sara asked, knowing there probably wasn't but trying to distract him.

"Nothing yet." He sounded disheartened, and Sara frowned sadly into the darkness, feeling her own hope stretching thin. They didn't even have a name for the person threatening Grissom, but two separate shooting attacks - the second thwarted by merest chance - had been enough to force Grissom into hiding via the good offices of the federal witness protection program. His past, it seemed, was still reaching out to snare him, despite his retirement from law enforcement.

"They'll get him, Gil," she said, struggling for encouragement. "It's only a matter of time."

"But how much time do we have left?" he asked lowly, and the prickle in her nose and eyes turned into tears, because she didn't know either, and she was so blasted _lonely_ -

Her sniffle brought a small distressed sound from the other end of the call. "Oh, Sara, sweetheart, I'm sorry - "

She gulped. "Don't," she managed. "I'm, I'm just - "

"I know," he said unsteadily, and she let out one quiet sob, because just hearing his voice was better than the aloneness, but it wasn't _enough._

"You have the harder end of things, don't think I've forgotten," Grissom went on, and she pictured his sad, tender expression, tried to remember the touch of his fingers on her cheek.

"It's easier now." Sara wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "They all think we're divorced, so no one has the guts to say anything."

"The performance of a lifetime," he agreed, half humor and half sorrow; but the deception kept her safe, and Grissom's peace of mind was the only reason she'd agreed to it. If the stalker thought they were separated, he or she would have no reason to harm Sara. "Honey, it won't be forever. I won't let it be."

It was an empty statement, but Sara chose to believe him. It was all they had, any more. "I know."

For a long moment they were silent, just listening to one another's breath, but the timer ticking down in Sara's head made itself known. "I need to hang up, Gil."

"All right," he said softly. "I love you."

"Love you too," Sara replied, and moved her thumb the hard half-inch to disconnect the call. They had promised not to say goodbye -

She gave herself a brief moment in the dark to imprint the conversation into memory, too precious to lose - and then pulled out the battery, set the phone on the floor, and brought her bootheel sharply down.

The remains went into her pocket, gathered carefully off the floor using only the light seeping in through the door's frosted window. She would flush the chip on her way out of the police station.

And in some unknown location, Sara knew that Grissom was doing the same thing, rendering their call untrackable, erasing all record of their connection.

But Locard's principle still held, and in pain and love their hearts were changed by each other's touch.

_It won't be forever._

Holding onto that promise, Sara opened the door.

End.


End file.
